Fenris: Comparing Swords
by wendymarlowe
Summary: The tension building between Hawke and Fenris finally comes to a head in an alternate imagining of their first admission of feeling for each other. "M" for a little language and implied sexytimes.


"Want to compare swords?"

Fenris's head jerked up, fast enough to have left a nasty lump if the bookshelves on the wall had encroached any further into the space above the desk. "Pardon?"

He had a red line across his forehead, an indent matching the shape of the pen he had fallen asleep on while writing his . . . whatever he was writing. He looked disoriented and adorable, and Hawke suppressed a chuckle. "Swords. I was hoping for your opinion on this one." He held out his newest acquisition.

The rest of the grogginess left Fenris's eyes as he stood up and accepted the hilt. He backed into the center of the smallish antechamber he had appropriated for his study and took a few test swings. Hawke tried not to notice the way his muscles in his shoulders bunched and moved as he hefted the heavy weight – tried, but failed.

"Adequate balance," Fenris eventually declared. "Bit heavy compared to what you're probably used to, but that axe you've been carrying was too small for you anyway." He laid the flat of the blade across his other palm, angling the sword to catch reflections from the lamp burning merrily away on the desk. "Do you want to see mine, for comparison?"

_I thought he'd never ask. _"I've wanted to see your sword for ages now, but you keep avoiding the subject. Isabella swears it's impressive."

Fenris's mouth opened, then shut, then hung open again. "I, ah . . ."

Hawke did laugh, then, at the sight of Fenris at a loss for words. "I know, I know, you aren't that kind of man, you've explained it before. And I know that Isabella is a liar – it's one of her more charming qualities. Not that I think she's lying about . . . I mean, I'm assuming that the two of you aren't . . ."

"We're not," Fenris choked out.

". . . right, I know, not that she hasn't been dropping hints left and right about your brooding demeanor and your "magical fisting thing." She's been trying very hard to look innocent. Which she's bad at." Hawke realized he was babbling – another effect Fenris seemed to have on him. What was it about this man?

"No argument here," Fenris said. "She . . . keeps me off-balance. Frequently."

"I'm pretty sure she enjoys it that way." Hawke stepped in and retrieved his new sword. And decided it was time to bring something out in the open.

"What about me? Do I keep you off-balance?" He forced himself not to look away, not to hide his gaze. Several long seconds ticked by in silence, Fenris standing frozen.

And then something primal flashed in Fenris's eyes. Hawke couldn't tell for sure what it was, but the sight sent a shiver down his spine and straight to his groin. The reaction was one he'd been having more and more often lately in Fenris' presence, not that the elf had deigned to acknowledge his broad hints. Ever.

For the first time, though, Fenris didn't retreat, didn't yield his ground. "I . . . find that I'm rather used to being off-balance around you, Hawke." He glanced down at the sword, then back up at Hawke's face. "Look, this is probably not the time for this discussion, but I don't get enough time alone with you as it is and I don't want to put it off any longer."

"Which discussion?" Hawke said – or would have, if all the air hadn't abandoned the room quite so suddenly. Was this it? Was this the time when he–

"I dreamed about you today," Fenris announced. He stepped closer, and Hawke was struck by how the greatsword hanging limp between them was like a physical manifestation of their history together – blatantly obvious but thoroughly useless in its current state.

But then his throat went dry, and thoughts of anything but Fenris vanished. "You did?" he choked out.

"I did." Fenris shuffled forward a half-step more, the breastplate of his armor now a hairsbreadth from touching Hawke's. "I was trying to write to some contacts I know in Tevinter, to see if what Hadriana said was true. And I must have fallen asleep, because I dreamed of you and then there you were."

Hawke was afraid to ask, but . . . "What did you dream?"

Fenris craned his neck forward the last few inches and brushed his lips softly against Hawke's jawbone. It was all Hawke could do to not shiver.

"I dreamed I did that. And I dreamed that you kissed me back, a little hesitantly at first but then with the same fire I've seen you turn on our enemies. And I dreamed . . . other things, I think." His eyes flickered from confident to uncertain. "Does that bother you?"

Andraste's tits, this was it. Hawke had been waiting for this for – for years now, he supposed, and he damn well wasn't going to let the opportunity pass him by.

"I started with hesitant?" Before Hawke could change his mind, he leaned forward and feathered a kiss on the corner of Fenris's mouth. "That sounds like a reasonable beginning," he murmured. How soon do I introduce the fire?"

It was like something inside Fenris had snapped. He reached for Hawke with a gutteral groan, spearing his fingers through Hawke's close-cropped hair and mashing their mouths together. Hawke had only a moment to acclimate to the subtle taste of wine on Fenris's lips before Fenris's tongue had invaded his mouth and the two of them were tumbling backward. Hawke's back met the wall with a thud which sent a jarring shockwave through him, second only to the one caused by the enticing male before him.

Suddenly they couldn't be close enough. Hawke only let his palms frame Fenris's face for a moment before putting his hands to better use, peeling off Fenris's armor as fast as he could without breaking the kiss. Fenris was just as frantic, if not more so, in assisting Hawke out of his splintmail as quickly as possible.

Fenris broke the kiss first, lowering his forehead to rest on Hawke's shoulder. "Some warrior I am. I can go down into the Deep Roads and fight wave after wave of darkspawn, but until today I just couldn't bring myself to . . . I couldn't have stood it if you had turned me down."

Hawke let his hands roam up Fenris's back and ran his fingers through that exquisite feather-light hair. "Have I ever given you any indication I wouldn't welcome this?"

"No, but . . ." Fenris didn't look up.

"Then why would think I could do that to you?" Hawke closed his eyes, just enjoying the warmth of Fenris's temple against his neck.

"Men lie."

"Women lie too."

"You know what I mean." Fenris pulled back to look Hawke straight in the face. "I couldn't bear to lose you, Hawke. And I would rather keep on pining if . . . this . . . means I have to give you up when you get bored of it."

"Would you really?"

". . . No."

"Good." And Hawke kissed him again, pouring all the promises he could into the contact. No matter what happened tonight, at least Fenris would know how he felt. And if Fenris kept responding as ardently as he was already, the revelations would be mutual.


End file.
